Words Unspoken (Eyes Wide Open)
by duckllingswan
Summary: She loves to watch him sometimes, observe him as he learns to navigate through daily life of this strange new world he's suddenly found himself dropped into. (Killian Jones vs. Modern World fic)


_A/N: A big thanks goes to Mena for being my beta/cheerleader. _

_This started as a silly Killian vs. the Modern World oneshot for her CS Secret Santa gift and then got delayed and then feelsy. So enjoy! _

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><p>She loves to watch him sometimes, <em>observe <em>him as he learns to navigate through daily life of this strange new world he's suddenly found himself dropped into. He's like a sponge- his eyes are always sharp and calculating as he too observes the world around him like he's trying to absorb as much information as he possibly can to understand a little bit more what life is like here in _her _world- The Land Without Magic.

She knows he still struggles with adjusting to this strange new land sometimes. She can see it in the little furrow that forms between his brows and the way he bites his lip as he stares at the buttons on the TV remote in concentration while he tries to remember the steps needed to operate the thing. It's in the confused, thoughtful look on his face when he hears an unfamiliar turn of phrase and tries his very hardest to silently translate the meaning. It's how he seems to slink away to the outer edges of the group whenever the conversations turns towards the new and unfamiliar. It's become an automatic thing to call Killian at least two times in a row because he's still not used to carrying the device around and sometimes doesn't hear it ring or feel the vibration of the phone beneath his layers of leather. But she knows despite his silent frustration he's _trying_.

Emma tries to help Killian adjust the best that she can. And so does the rest of her family. Like how her father patiently explains to Killian how to get the coffee maker to work, or the way her son sometimes takes the old pirate under his wing with a grin to help him work his phone or show him the wonders of the internet. And her heart clenches a little when she thinks about the time Snow quietly accepted Killian's assistance with dinner as a way to teach him how to use the appliances in the kitchen, because they've been trying to show him just as much as she has that he _belongs _with them, that they _want_ him there too.

But Emma _knows _Killian, understands him better than most, and she knows that while he appreciates the private lessons, he also enjoys learning these things for himself. So she sits back and discreetly watches him maneuver around the little seaside house they've both come to call home, silently delighting in the pleased grin that crosses his face or the quiet little "ah ha!" he mutters when he has managed to turn on the dishwasher without consequence.

She loves how there seems to be a rotating cycle of _How To _books on his nightstand on all things 21st century and how he happily applies his new knowledge anytime he can. Her heart still does a little flip in her chest when she thinks about how the adorable idiot actually sought out Storybrooke's resident mechanic after that time her her car battery died. It was a simple fix that only required a quick trip to the garage, but Killian's face creased into a frown the entire time he watched the mechanics tinker with the complicated engine of her Bug. A few days later Emma's father had told her about the conversation he overheard Killian having with the mechanic at Granny's.

The older gentleman's name was Bruno and he had been wary of the pirate, side eying his hook with trepidation from the moment he approached him. But when Killian explained that he merely wished to know more about vehicles and how to repair them in the event that something else went wrong with her car, the man gave Killian a knowing smile and invited the pirate to join him at the garage later that afternoon.

When her car got a flat tire a few weeks later, Killian _insisted_ on changing it himself even though she had made it abundantly clear that she knew how to change a tire.

"I know, Swan," he said with a peck to her cheek. "But I want to."

And even when the skies opened up halfway through his tire change, soaking him to the bone, he climbed back in the car with water dripping from his hair, eyes shining with pride as he grinned in the same boyish, adorable way he did whenever she let him do something for her and she secretly loved it.

But sometimes, she can tell when it's just all too much for him, when he just needs a break from the constant blindingly bright lights and the noise of this world. She sees how he becomes overwhelmed and frustrated with it all and sees his own walls slowly slip up around him and she stays quiet as she watches him retreat.

Depending on his mood, she'll find him tucked away in a quiet corner somewhere with a book in his hand. Sometimes he slips away to their bedroom to spend a quiet moment on the balcony that overlooks the sea, feet propped up against the guardrail as he leans his chair back on two legs and breathes in the warm, salty summer air that sweeps off the water, enjoying the way the sound of the waves lapping against the shore helps unravel the ball of anxiety that seems to lodge itself in his chest.

And sometimes... sometimes on those especially difficult days, he'll take the short walk down their lawn to the water's edge and watch the ships sail in and out of port with a deep melancholy in his eyes while his deepest fears and insecurities seem to come out and attack him at every angle, when his mind seems to play an endless litany of insults.

_Who are you kidding? You don't belong here._

It's times like those that Emma can truly see each and every one of his three hundred years haunting him as they etch themselves into the frown lines on his face, swimming in his cerulean eyes. It's those days that Emma finds herself walking down to the shoreline as well, wordlessly joining him on the piece of driftwood they use as a bench. She'll curl an arm around his waist and rest her head against his shoulder as she breathes in his scent and waits for him to come back to her (because she knows he will, 'cause that's just what he _does_, but sometimes he just needs _time_).

And when he's ready, feeling less at war with himself and his insecurities he'll wraps his arm around her to play with the soft ends of her hair until the tension loosens from his shoulders and lets out a quiet sigh.

"Thank you," she murmurs into the skin of his neck and he knows what she's saying.

_Thank you for saving me. Thank you for giving up your home for me. Thank you for _trying_ for me. I love you._

"You're welcome," he murmurs back, pulling her just a little bit closer. And she knows what _he's_ saying.

_I'd do it all again, a thousand times over, without hesitation. Because I love you too._

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><p><em>AN: Reviews are always appreciated. _


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